


Consequences.

by YunaTuna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Crying, Dadza, Emotional Hurt, Explosives, Family Dynamics, Gen, Ghostbur, How Do I Tag, Hurt Phil Watson, I'm not killing Phil because i don't want to do that to myself AND i want him to suffer more :D, Lore from Phil's Hardcore World, Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Mentioned Ranboo, No beta we die like Phil in his season 2 world, Pain, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Angst, Phil needs a hug man, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers for The Fall of Manburg, Suicidal Thoughts, but very very mild, we need more phil angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YunaTuna/pseuds/YunaTuna
Summary: "Philza, why do you smell like death?"
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 307





	Consequences.

**Author's Note:**

> How do you format? Who knows. I wrote this all in one go, cause if I didn't this idea would plague me for the rest of my life. I took some lore from Phil's hardcore world, but kinda molded it to be my own. This is my first posted fic, so criticism welcome!

“Philza,” Ghostbur said. Phil looked up from the book on the lectern, quill hovering over the blank page. “Hey Wil,” he responded, placing the feather aside. Ghostbur appeared in the library next to him, eyes searching. The soft gurgle of the sewer water filled the silence between them. “What’s happened?”

“Why do you smell like death?” Ghostbur asked, looking him up and down. 

Phil’s brain froze. He could feel the fire climbing up his leg, the high pitched growl of a hidden zombie. He inhaled deeply. An explosion, leaving his ears ringing. He exhaled shakily. The feeling of thick fangs piercing his shoulder, the metal taste of a god apple. The feeling of his life draining awa- 

“I don't know Wil,” Phil said slowly, placing his shaky hands in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s just your ghostly status?” He forced a chuckle.

Ghostbur laughed. “No you don’t understand Phil, you’re the only one here who smells like this! It’s quite interesting,” he said, coming closer to Phil, head cocked like a puppy. 

Phil struggled to keep his breathing even. Ghostbur watched him with rapt attention, waiting for his response. Phil blinked hard, rubbing his chest at the sudden spike of pain in his heart. He couldn’t look away, and watched Ghostbur’s smile slowly fade away.

“Why do you smell like death, Philza?” he asked quietly.

Phil didn’t bother responding. Almost as if on autopilot, he slowly got up from his chair, leaving the book unfinished on the lectern. Look at him, running away from his problems again. He tore his eyes from his son and walked to the door. 

“Phil?”

Phil sighed, a shaky hand on the door. “Look Wil…” He paused, searching for words, his throat tight.

“...dad?”

Phil choked. It was dark, and a thunderstorm had just rolled in. He had woken up to see Wilbur standing in the doorway, clutching the whale plush he had gotten for his eighth birthday. Lightning lit up the room, and the boy flinched. Phil had said nothing, and beckoned for his son, moving the covers to make room. He was basically tackled by a shaking Wil. He wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight, heart breaking at every whimper Wil made when thunder echoed in the house. They spent the rest of the night together, Phil’s hands running through his son’s hair, humming softly.

Pressure started to build up behind his eyes. He turned and offered Ghostbur a tight smile. “I have to go, son. I’ll be back tomorrow. Like usual.”

Ghostbur beamed, and Phil’s hands felt sticky with blood. “Alright! I’ll see you later!”

Phil opened the door, and basically clawed out of the sewers. He stumbled through L’Manburg, waving at a confused Ranboo before entering his house and slamming the door shut.

His knees gave out, and he sunk down to the floor, tears dripping down his face. The dams had broken. He tried to hold it in but his body refused, leaving him gasping for air. He curled up, stifling his cries with his hand. He clutched at his chest, his heart shattering.

He thought of the Ender King, white hot anger filling his veins. If only he wasn’t given another chance. He wouldn’t be living with this pain. He'd be back in the void, feeling nothing. He thought of the Blaze Empress, of He and She, and the anger turned into painful longing. It was the king that brought him back to life, but it was the empress that taught him how to live again. His builds, the structures he built up from the ground, leaving his hands worn and scarred, gone.

A cry tore itself from his throat. He was drowning in his own pity, sobs being wrenched out of him. He couldn’t breath. His back felt too light, his stride off balance and wobbly. He almost jumped off a cliff. He would have died if Niki wasn’t there to remind him he couldn’t fly. All his memories, his deaths. They plagued him. He couldn’t die. Static built in his head.

His hands felt sticky again, the heat of an explosion on his face. His son was next to him, laughing with tears streaming down his cheeks. Phil couldn’t hear what he was saying over the ringing in his ears. The sword shoved in his hands felt heavy, the blade glinting in the sunlight.

“Do it, kill me Phil. Stab me,” Wilbur had babbled, pressing the tip to his heart.

“I can’t, you-you’re my SON!” Phil had almost screamed. He didn’t know what to do. Wilbur had just looked at him, eyes wild, a cruel smile on his face. Phil felt tears start to fall as he looked at his son, his pride and joy, reduced to nothing but madness and spite. 

He moved forward, impaling his second child on the sword with one movement. He collapsed, clutching his son’s body.

“My son,” Phil had whispered into his soot covered hair. He smelt like smoke and gunpowder.

“Dad,” Wilbur had murmured, bringing a hand up to rest on top of his. Phil brought their foreheads together, cradling his son's face. Wil smiled, a weak but very real smile. “Thank you.” 

Phil watched as Wilbur’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling him go limp in his arms. He could do nothing but watch as his son died in front of him. 

Phil screamed. He felt his heart break, never to be put back together again. He had lost a part of himself. He sobbed, cursing Notch for what he had done to him, for what he was forced to do. The sounds of withers snapped him out of his grief.

Gently placing his son down, he jumped into the fray, trying to forget about the pain as he shot the monsters from afar, refusing to think about the tears in his eyes, the blood drying on his shirt, or his son’s body growing cold just below his feet.

The repressed pain was hitting him now, swooping down from the sky like Phantoms on sleepless nights. He could do nothing but wait, letting the waves of sadness wash over him. He didn’t know how long he lay on the floor, crying for his son, his grief, his memories, his pain. It was all coming out now.

Tommy had changed. The once energetic, outgoing child, was beaten down by the war, by the death and destruction that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. His eyes had hardened, a scowl on his face more common than a smile. The laugh that Phil had grown to love was scarce and quiet. For the first week he was here, Tommy was always standing between him and Tubbo, refusing to let him near the shorter boy. Tommy doesn’t trust anymore. He had pulled away from Phil’s touch for the first time that Phil could remember.

Techno had grown more distant. His sarcastic, hardworking son had become the blood god. Wil had given him that nickname eons ago. He slaughtered with no abandon, slashing at anyone who came his way. Techno had become a recluse, doing nothing but gathering resources for days on end, refusing to eat or sleep. He’d become cruel, terrorizing people who decided to build to close to his base. Phil couldn’t even find him, let alone speak to him. The only reason Phil even knew his son was alive was from the whispers that followed him through town.

His heart couldn’t handle thinking about Wilbur. So he didn’t. 

He lay there for what felt like days, tears eventually running out. He didn’t know what to do, which was happening more and more often. The static in his mind grew quiet.

Phil took a moment, examining the wood on his floor. He didn't want to move. With a groan, he forced himself up against the wall, resting his head on the windowsill. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to wallow in his misery for a bit longer. His breath hitched, a few more tears falling down his face.

He hoisted himself up to his feet with a hiss, his muscles sore and aching. He sniffled, rubbing his face with his sleeve. He shuffled to the cauldron of water in his house, and fell to his knees. He looked into the water. 

He looked a mess. His face was stiff and streaked with tear tracks, his eyes red and puffy. His hair was a tangled mess from him tugging on it constantly, bucket hat nowhere to be found. He looked sad. 

He disturbed the pitiful image with his hands, splashing his face with the cool water. He scrubbed at his eyes, washing away any remaining traces of his outburst. He stared at his reflection in the rippling water. 

The great Philza Minecraft, reduced to nothing through a mere conversation. His shoulders felt heavy, and he splashed more water on his face, feeling it drip down his sleeves. He dried his face with his sleeves, not bothering to get a towel. His throat was burning, worn out from his breakdown.

He got to his feet, and opened a chest, taking out flask of water. He downed it all in one swallow. He coughed, and inhaled slowly. 

He was fine. Ghostbur’s smile flashed in his mind. It was the same smile he saw when he taught him how to make paper lanterns. The same smile he got when he surprised Wil with his first guitar. The same smile he gave Phil when telling him about his new nation when he came to visit home.

Phil exhaled. He was not fine.


End file.
